


"I don't like flan"

by mararn



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anakin is a headass, M/M, Obi-Wan is a baker, Questionable Humour, basically a romcom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2018-12-24 14:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 14,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mararn/pseuds/mararn
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi is the most successful wedding cake baker in the galaxy, harboring the secret that he can't bake for shit. One day his headass client, Anakin Skywalker finds out, and Obi-Wan panics, choosing to turn on the charm to save his business. His charm then works a little too well...





	1. RuPaul & Rosé

**Author's Note:**

> I swear like a fucking sailor, you've been warned..

If Obi-Wan had to say “so tell me about yourselves” to one more couple today, he was going to lose his damn mind. Running a hand through his light auburn hair, he groaned as he spied one more appointment for the evening - some young kid and his high school sweetheart? Whatever. Obi-Wan was just only going to have to pretend to give a shit for a little while longer until he could go back to his flat and watch RuPaul’s.

 

A quick glance to the clock let the baker know he had three minutes before his next appointment began to put on a believable game face. As per usual, Obi-Wan starts a pot of coffee and sets out two mugs in front of the line-up of wedding cake samples. Controlled by an unknown _force_ Obi tidied up his papers and finger combed his beard to look presentable.

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi was the most prestigious wedding cake baker and designer in the entire galaxy. At only 30, he had already taken over his late mentor’s shop and won several awards for his elaborate decorations and flavorful cakes. At the age of seventeen, the baker began his education under the esteemed wedding cake baker, Qui-Gon Jinn. Just thirteen years later, Obi-Wan was at the peak of his career, decorating cakes for celebrities, Senators, Chancellors, and the like. Only one, slight, teeny tiny, problem. His whole career was built on a lie, Obi-Wan couldn’t bake for shit, he was only really good at decorating. All of his cakes were box mixes from the store. But as long as no one knew, his career could continue to progress. And his lack of baking ability certainly wasn’t for lack of trying, but all his attempts to bake without a premade mix turned out dry and _sandy_.

 

At exactly 7:05pm the bell atop the shop door chimed and in walked two fucking supermodels. Her cheekbones were as pronounced as his ass. No way these were his clients. Obi-Wan did a double take at the appointment roster. The ravishing Adonis with the defined calf muscles was wearing what Obi-Wan was pretty sure was a women’s v-neck shirt emblazoned with a swarovski “Bride-To-Be” on the chest.

 

“We’re here for the cake,” the two said in tandem, eliciting a shiver from the baker, due to the similarities to those twins in The Shining.

 

Being the fucking pro that he was, Obi-Wan put on his best “welcome to Chili’s” face and invited the young couple to sit in the comfy client chairs. A little ding from his coffee pot let Obi know the coffee was ready.

 

“How do you guys take your coffee?” The baker asked, pouring one out for them both.

 

The girl, Padmé, if Obi-Wan remembered correctly, smiled fakely, “Oh, haha, we actually own a coffee place, maybe you’ve heard of it, Nabrew?” What the fuck was this? Obi-Wan had to refrain from sassily sashaying away, who the hell turned down a free cup of coffee?

 

“No, haven’t heard,” fake laugh, “you still didn’t answer the question, how do you want your coffee?” Man screw being a professional, it was almost time to close, this bride was being a little shit, the groom hardly seemed hetero, and Obi-Wan knew there was a bottle of rosé waiting for him at home. The only loyal hoes these days were alcohol.

 

The groom laid his hand on his fiancé’s and flashed an apologetic smile, “You’ll have to forgive my Panda Bear, she gets hangry easily. We’ll both take it black.” Obi-Wan blinked, how the fuck could the groom be so charming with such a whiny little shit for a fiancé.

 

“Aw, pet names are _so_ precious, so how did you guys meet then, uh,” Obi looked at the smudged writing in the roster, “Anakid and Panda?”

 

The groom audibly snorted, which normally would be rude as fuck, but from this kid was mildly endearing, “Uh, it’s _Anakin_ and _Padmé_. And we met when I was seven.”

 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan smiled warmly, “That’s adorable, so you were both seven?”

 

Whoops. Wrong move, Padmé tugged at her collar and flushed. Anakin remained cool despite his bride’s discomfort, “Not really,” he chuckled, “I was seven, Panda Bear was twice my age back then.” Anakin’s blue eyes seemed to sparkle as he playfully elbowed Padmé, “I had a thing for older women from a young age.”

 

Obi-Wan internally did the sign of the cross, fucking hell, what fourteen year old sees a seven year old and is like _“yeah I’d tap that when he hits puberty”_? Obi-Wan had seen some weird shit working in the wedding cake industry, but this Anakin kid was by far the weirdest. No wonder Padmé was such a bitch and looked physically pained.

 

And, as though he had no tact at all, Anakin fucking continued, “Yeah, we decided to wait until I was twenty to officially tie the knot though. We were gonna wait another year to have an open bar but Panda’s Daddy was against me getting too wasted,” and he FUCKING WINKED. So that meant this kid was ten years younger than him, and said “Daddy” in casual conversation. Obi-Wan repressed ~~an erection~~ another shiver. Now was not the time for an age kink to come and taint his thoughts or his business practices.

 

Miraculously, Obi-Wan lasted the entire rest of the hour tasting session without saying anything too rude to Padmé or her ~~child bride~~ fiancé. At the end of the session the couple had chosen a lovely and versatile white cake with buttercream frosting. Thanking the pair, Obi-Wan stood and led them to the door.

 

“Have a good night you two,” he smiled, “feel free to give me a call if you need anything in these next months leading up to the wedding.” For once, maybe, he kind of meant it, it wouldn’t be too bad to hear that cutie patootie Anakin’s voice on the phone. And based off the meeting today, it would be Anakin who called, the kid seemed like a total groomzilla.


	2. Bustin' makes me feel so good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research, and by research I mean I binged the original six again - let me just rant briefly before we begin. Obi-Wan may have had the higher ground, but Anakin had the higher fucking command of the force. Good always wins in the end blah blah... but I honestly feel like Anakin wasn't strong enough in his conviction to kill Obi-Wan and that's why Ewan McGregor got to be like "You were my brother, I loved you." I also think Luke Skywalker is a whiny little shit and I think he honestly should have gone to the dark side so I hope in Episode VIII they show that it's not Kylo's fault that he's evil, but it's literally Luke's because he was on the path to the dark side anyways and then Luke fucking ran off to meditate while Kylo Ren was left with no father figures (fuck Han Solo, but that's a rant for another day) around but the burnt ass Darth Vader helmet.

“Note to self: never fucking give my number to another fucking client,” Obi angrily told his expression in the mirror. He looked at the dark circles under his eyes and frowned. Thirty was too young to show signs of age and exhaustion, but last night was the fourth night this week that Anakin had called right at closing and kept him on the line for hours, asking the most inane of questions. Normally, Obi-Wan wouldn’t have stood for this, but Padmé (or, more specifically, her “Daddy” who was paying him) had the riches of a princess. Plus, there was something oddly exciting about hearing Anakin’s voice and imagining the stupid faces he must have been making. Obi-Wan totally envisioned Anakin playing with his long hair and tying it up in a topknot as they spoke, or rubbing his blue eyes tiredly as the time seemed to escape them.

 

Today though, Obi-Wan couldn’t let his exhaustion overtake him, he had to bake and decorate 1,000 cupcakes for a huge client’s event. Chancellor Palpatine was probably one of the larger names Obi-Wan would ever have the honor of working for - so for the next three days all that would be on his mind would be Palpatine’s party. Obi figured he could make all the cupcakes today, let them cool overnight, and then take his time for the next two days decorating them to perfection. No Anakin, none, nu-uh, not gonna happen. 

 

Thank god the Chancellor was paying the big bucks, because there was no fucking way Obi could have justified buying 45 boxes of cake mix at once otherwise. Obi-Wan had gone to the grocery store in incognito mode, sporting large aviators and a brown hooded jacket that vaguely resembled a robe. Hood: up, Glasses: cool as fuck. He was ready to roll.

 

One cool-ass baking montage later, Obi-Wan had his 1,000 cupcakes baked, and was getting ready to close. He really should take out the trash and hide all evidence of the box mix, but, shit, if he wasn’t dog tired. The clock said an hour to close, but he had no appointments and no one would  _ really _ know if he closed early. 

 

Right as he was about to turn off the store’s lights the phone rang. Obi-Wan wanted to fucking drop kick a cupcake.  _ Could he have no peace? _ One look at the caller ID, and Obi-Wan actually started to seriously consider destroying his day’s work. Did Anakin-fucking-Skywalker have nothing better to do than call him?

 

_ Fuck it _ , Obi-Wan thought,  _ Anakin can wait _ . Grabbing his  ~~ robe ~~ coat and sunglasses, Obi-Wan locked up and made his way to his apartment. Obi Wan knew for a fact there was a bottle or two of chardonnay waiting for him at home and The L Word DVD box set. Screw sobriety, there was no way he could survive two days of straight decorating without a little alcoholic assistance.

 

Two bottles of chardonnay, one season of lesbians, and a failure to set a morning alarm later, Obi-Wan rolled out of bed with a pounding headache. Grabbing his phone, cringing at the light, and then registering the time elicited a loud “fuck” from the baker. Eleven AM?!? Shit, the store was supposed to open two hours ago. Miraculously, Obi’s hangover seemed a lot less intense and he jumped out of bed, threw on some pants from the floor, and used mouthwash before grabbing his phone, sunglasses, and keys. 

 

Sprinting to the shop front, Obi-Wan wanted to scream. Outside of the door, Anakin Skywalker stood, wearing lord knows what questionably gay ensemble and bitchy scowl. Fuck his ass, but like don’t  _ fuck _ his ass. Obi knew how royally screwed he was.

 

Approaching the door, with keys in hand, Obi-Wan flashed the most apologetic smile his hungover self could manage. “Heh, hey, Anakin,” Obi-Wan muttered as he turned the key as slowly as he could without visibly stalling (but, let’s be real, he was fucking stalling). Anakin impatiently tapped his Toms ™ canvas flat-clad toes.

 

“What the hell, Kenobi?” Anakin asks, visibly grinding his teeth. “I called you last night, you didn’t pick up, so I came here when you were  _ supposed to open _ . But now, over two hours later, you come, hungover, wearing a  _ brown bathrobe _ ?” Obi-Wan wanted to sob, that was a low fucking blow. This coat was too expensive to be reduced to being called a mere bathrobe.

 

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan mumbled, opening the door to the shop and inviting Anakin in. He threw his coat on a chair and got to washing his hands and setting dyes out for begining to decorate this ungodly amount of cupcakes. “Can I make you a cup of coffee, Mr. Skywalker?” Obi asked, trying to be polite.

 

Anakin snorted, “I can make the coffee, don’t forget, I own a coffee place. Also, I’m pretty sure I’ve called you enough we can be on first name basis now.” Anakin’s face softened a bit, “Rough night, I presume,” he teased, pointing to the sunglasses that were still in front of Obi’s eyes. Obi-Wan shrugged. Anakin smiled gently, “I’ve been there, wedding planning has been hell, I can’t imagine having that be my entire career. Sorry about snapping earlier, where’s your coffee?”

 

“Uh, left top cabinet are mugs and pantry has all my higher grounds,” he said, gesturing with his elbows. His hands were already piping some sick designs on Dooku’s cupcakes. 

 

“Eugh,” Anakin whined, “pre-ground cof-WHAT THE HELL?”

 

Obi-Wan whipped his head towards the pantry and immediately wanted to fucking die. Not only had his expensive shades almost flown off, all of his cake mixes were in that pantry. The sad guilty noise that left his mouth was inexplicably pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anakin wears Toms, confirmed, mmkay. Also everyone here has Borderline Personality Disorder and I'm fine with that.
> 
> Also, if any of all y'all wanna follow me on twitter I'm @new_genre - I post updates about what I'm writing/working on and there's more fics currently mentally in the works


	3. Ol' Palpsy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I hear when I close my eyes is the sound of Sheev Palpatine going "do it" and then Anakin having a moral fucking dilemma...

Anakin’s face spread into an evil, grinchy smile. “Are you telling me, Obi-Wan Kenobi, that you, the most expensive wedding cake baker in this town, can’t bake a cake? It is literally a piece of cake to bake a pretty cake.” Obi-Wan, though usually quick on his feet, was impaired by the transgressions of last night. He had no time to come up with a suitable excuse so he just sort of shrugged.

 

Anakin feigned innocence, “well, it would be a damn shame if I were to tell major media outlets your secret.”

 

Obi-Wan tried to blink fast and get rid of the tears threatening. But, it was no use. A single tear broke the gates and in two minutes, the grown-ass man was on the floor, piping bag in hand, crying about being a shitty baker. “If you blackmail me, I’ll have the higher moral ground. Don’t try it,” he sobbed, squeezing the icing bag and getting whipped cream frosting on his day-old jeans. 

 

“I hate you,” Anakin teased with a chuckle, rolling his eyes and turning back to face the baker. But to further invalidate his former comment, Anakin blushed, eyes immediately drawn to the white goo on Obi-Wan’s pants. Were those True Religion? Obi-Wan had good taste, shit. Well… except for that bathrobe…

 

Obi-Wan, through his tears, saw Anakin’s blush and the way his client looked at him both pathetically and hungrily. And then a thought only a depraved, depressed baker could have concocted came to mind. What if he… charmed his client? It was sad and probably illegal or something - higher moral ground, who? - but Obi Wan needed to not have his secret come out. Last time he had been outed no one was even a little surprised, but he was pretty sure that wouldn’t be the same.

 

Obi-Wan took a couple calming breaths, sniffled loudly, and wiped his nose on the back of his hand - as sexily as a grown man covered in whipped cream frosting could. Rising slowly to his feet, he changed his tear-stained face into a smolder. Placing his hand on his hip, and suggestively raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head down a smidge to look through his eyelashes to the taller Anakin, “If you hate me so much then there’s no reason for you to want to help me clean this frosting from my pants, is there?”

 

Anakin audibly swallowed, “Uh, yeah no reason whatsoever.” The tension in the room was palpable but Obi-Wan, being the cheeky shit he was, still wasn’t done. 

 

“You know, all the cupcakes are for Chancellor Palpatine, if you, say, helped me out and bit your tongue I would be more than happy to arrange for you to come to the event as my assistant or protegé.” Obi-Wan knew no one could turn down a chance to meet the ol’ Palpsy. It was like Anakin was flirting with the fucking forces of evil, the way his eyes hungrily glistened at the mention of Palpatine.

 

“You promise I can meet the Chancellor?” Obi-Wan nodded. “Then hell yeah,” Anakin said. Obi-Wan had to wonder how hard up Anakin was for sex with Padme by the way his neck flushed at the mention of the Chancellor.

 

Anakin cleared his throat and started collecting his things as he backed towards the door, “Text me those deats, but I have to go back to Nabrew. Panda Bear’s gonna be mad I’ve been gone this long. You should come some time, we have pour-over’s so good you’ll feel like your limbs have been chopped off, you’re burning in lava, and you will forever need life support to survive.” And with that, the sweaty Skywalker was gone. Obi wanted to feel accomplished that his secret wouldn’t be revealed, but he was left confused as to how nearly dying in such a painful way was a good analogy for coffee. He was willing to bet twenty dollars that slogan wasn’t Padmé’s idea. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going on vacation and then I go back to work and college. So I'm posting a metric ass ton right now so no one's like "wow, I wish there we more than 2 chapters"


	4. In which Obi-Wan uses MapQuest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my pre-google maps kids know what's up

The morning of Palpatine’s event, Obi-Wan took Anakin up on his offer to visit Nabrew. A quick MapQuest search last night let him know the coffee shop was an easy three minute walk from his flat. So, spritzing himself with Burberry Touch for Men and making sure his hand cream was in his jacket pocket, Obi-Wan headed out. The skies looked a bit grey so he threw on his hood. No sense in messing up the hair he worked so hair to do if it started to drizzle.

 

The coffee shop, which stood on the corner of the street, housed the most beautiful mural Obi-Wan had ever seen. There was a gorgeous lake painted so realistically Obi-Wan could envision himself swimming in it and lying out on the sandy banks to let the sun dry him. There was something oddly romantic about the water - like he could hold a secret wedding at the lake or something.

 

Padmé came out, having sensed someone staring at the mural. “Is it that good?” She asked, shyly tucking a ringlet of brown hair behind her ear, “I painted it when we first bought the place. It’s a lake on my family property. During my politician days I would escape there with Ani for some peace.” Huh, interesting, she’d been a politician. The more Obi-Wan thought about it the more he could see it, Padmé definitely seemed focused on righting the wrongs of the system, and he had no doubt she would have held her own among all the men.

 

“It’s phenomenal, I feel the gentle breeze, there’s so much detail,” Obi-Wan assured her. Padmé’s shoulders relaxed, and she flashed a warm smile.

 

“Well, better come in, Ani’s waiting for you. And I assume he’s given you the terrible pitch for his pourover. I promise, it actually is wonderful.” Padmé’s laugh was lovely, and had he been straight, he would have found her warm smile intoxicating. 

 

Anakin Wholethimdresshimself Skywalker had assured Obi-Wan last night over the phone that his outfit would be appropriate for meeting Palpatine. “Appropriate for the Chancellor” did not include pleather jeggings so tight Anakin looked like you should be asking “how much per hour?” Obi-Wan mentally reminded himself to ask Padmé to help her fiancé change before they had to leave for the event. The baker had a feeling Padmé didn’t love Anakin for his fashion sense - even though it was after Labor Day, her all white ensemble was very tasteful, and the knit wool shawl draped around her shoulders would have made any other woman appear matronly, but on her it worked. 

 

“Anakin, do I smell flan?” Obi-Wan asked, having picked up the unmistakable scent of a custard tart.

 

Padmé’s entire demeanor changed. She looked not at all the bitch that Obi-Wan had met that first day, almost like she had sent a decoy in her place, and this nice lady was the real Padmé Amidala. “Yes, it is flan, you’ve a great nose Mr. Kenobi.” She proceeded to tell him all about how the shop’s pâtisserie specialized in flan, and it was a bestseller. Anakin spent the whole time brooding in the corner muttering his dislike. 

 

After having the best cup of coffee of his entire life, and catching up with some of the most pleasant clients he had ever worked for, Obi looked at the Tag Heuer on his wrist, noting he and Anakin had to be to the venue in just under two hours. It was best to be iced out when meeting the Chancellor. Clearing his throat, he turned to Padmé, by far the more reasonable of the two.

 

“Padmé, Anakin and I have to be leaving to my shop soon, would you mind helping him pick an outfit appropriate for Chancellor Palpatine.”

 

Padmé’s eyes widened, “You never mentioned the Chancellor. Ani, you can’t go looking like Joan Jett. Please put on that outfit you wore to meet my parents. I know you think you look like a politician in it, but I promise it’s stunning.” Anakin rolled his eyes, and tossed his apron carelessly on the counter, garnering a scowl from his fiancé. But he had agreed, and so he headed to the stairs at the back of the café, where Obi-Wan assumed their apartment was.

 

If Anakin was what the traditional politician looked like, Obi-Wan would have been far more involved in politics. Anakin had on some tastefully tailored black slacks with a white oxford under the softest looking charcoal cashmere pullover. Most men looked like stuffy professors with elbow patches, yet Anakin managed to look charming as ever. And Obi-Wan could tell the black pea coat draped over his arm was very expensive. And don’t get Obi started on how sexy Anakin looked with his hair properly combed.

 

Mouthing a “thank you” to Padmé, Obi-Wan and Anakin made their way to the bakery. But not before Anakin, in his grossly endearing way, blew a kiss to Padmé.

 

The walk to the shop may have been short, but Obi-Wan tried to fill the silence with information about the event they were to attend. “So, the Chancellor is celebrating his recent election. He won in a landslide vote, as I’m sure you heard. He ordered 1,000 cupcakes for this event. We need to load the cupcakes into my car, and we’ll head to the hotel to set out the display before everyone arrives.”

 

Anakin, bless his heart, was radiating with excitement about being able to go see the chancellor. “Do you think I’ll be able to take a photo with him for my blog?”

 

Obi-Wan coughed to cover his laugh, who the fuck had a blog these days? “I’m sure it can be arranged, Palpatine and I have known eachother since before I joined the Council.”

 

Anakin’s eyes almost bugged out of his head, “ _ You’re _ on the Council?” Obi-Wan scoffed, but Anakin continued, “don’t get me wrong, I’m sure your decorating skills are sublime. But you can’t hardly bake, so how the hell did you get on the Breadi Council?”

 

Obi-Wan scowled, “Well my mentor was on the council. And when he passed away he asked Ace of Cakes Windu that I be allowed on, and Yoda agreed.”

 

Anakin snorted, “Well who was your mentor for you to be allowed on without passing the traditional bread trials?”

 

Obi-Wan looked at his brogues. His voice came out hardly more than a whisper, “Qui-Gon Jinn.”

 

Anakin’s brows lifted, “Oh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea, I heard about his bake-off with Darth Maul. Sorry for prying.”

 

Obi-Wan shook his head and blinked away the tears. “No, it’s fine you were curious. And I mean Qui-Gon was a phenomenal man, the best a young baker could have hoped to know. I really did learn a lot. And my baking inability isn’t for his lack of trying, he sent me to countless workshops and spent innumerable hours trying to teach me.”

 

They arrived at Obi-Wan’s bakery, and loaded the trunk of his car with the cupcakes, secured firmly down with bungee cords so as not to slide around and mess up the decorations Obi worked so hard. But, always one to be prepared, Obi-Wan also threw in his piping kit and a couple of tubs of frosting.

 

Twenty minutes of Anakin teasing Obi-Wan about his driving later, and the pair arrived at the hotel where Palpatine’s party was being held. Even more than an hour before the event was to start, the parking lot was full and the valets were confused. The Chancellor sure was a popular man.

 

“I’m not an old man,” Obi-Wan bristled, setting up the pastry displays. “I’m hardly older than Padmé, and my driving is safe, thank you very much.”

 

Anakin laughed and playfully punched Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Calm down  _ old man _ , I never said your driving was bad, just clearly aged. You act as though the speed limit is made to never be approached.”

 

“Old man,” Obi-Wan muttered, “Sure wouldn’t be calling me an old man if you knew half of what I’m capable of.” Luckily, Anakin was too busy fangirling about the Chancellor to have heard the mutterings of the definitely not old man.

 

“Oh my god,” Anakin’s voice raised an entire octave as he leaned into Obi-Wan, “it’s him, Chancellor Palpatine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W-q5VSnZzWw


	5. Great sex appeal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short little flashback because why the hell not ja feel?

Qui-Gon Jinn rubbed the his nose with the back of his hand, getting flour on the tip of his nose. Obi-Wan, seventeen and fresh out of high school, had no idea how to tell his esteemed baking master how ridiculous he looked right now.

 

“Uh, Master Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said quietly, looking at his shoes and uncomfortably shifting.

 

“Hmm,” Qui-Gon hummed inquisitively, focused on making sure to continue folding his batter.

 

“You, uh, you have got… Well, what I mean is that… You just…” Obi-Wan was completely flustered.

 

Qui-Gon put down the bowl and looked up at Obi, eyes full of concern. “What’s the matter?” He asked, crossing the small distance between them and staring at Obi-Wan. The poor apprentice was flushed and holding his bowl and spatula far too tight. Qui-Gon placed a hand on his young ward’s, transferring even more flour.

 

Obi-Wan bit his lip but grinned shyly despite his best efforts. “Uh, you have some flour on your nose.”

 

Qui-Gon’s concerned face softened to one of amusement. “And you couldn’t just say it?” He futilely rubbed at his nose, somehow missing the flour altogether.

 

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan let out a sigh, “you just looked so into your baking. And you’ve missed it, Master.”

 

Qui-Gon shrugged defeatedly, “wanna get it for me then?”

 

Obi-Wan’s face flushed once more. And with a shaky hand he brushed the tip of his mentor’s nose, knocking loose the flour. “S-s-sorry,” he stuttered, “I’ll t-try to just say it next time.”

 

Qui-Gon looked knowingly to his mentee, “don’t worry too much. I was you once, I revered my baking mentor and never would have dreamed of speaking to him casually. I hope we have a better rapport than that. I’d love for you to be comfortable around me, Obi.” The paternal way he said Obi made the young man grip his bowl tighter. But Obi nodded, he certainly wanted rapport with Qui-Gon.

 

Quite a bit more than rapport was built between the two as Obi-Wan’s training continued. Nearly two years into his apprenticeship, and  Qui-Gon was both a father figure and a Daddy to him . The couple had done everything short of have sex, and poor Obi-Wan was incredibly frustrated. He was nearly nineteen and felt Qui-Gon was being terribly unfair holding out on him. Obi-Wan had resolved to try to seduce his mentor on his nineteenth birthday tomorrow.

 

“Obi-Wan, if you were as excited about learning to make a moist sponge cake a you are about whatever has you distracted you might actually be a good baker by now,” Qui-Gon reprimanded.

 

Obi-Wan flinched, “Yes, Qui-Gon,” he said, softly.  _ Great sex appeal _ , he thought to himself. But, Obi-Wan was determined to get laid by tonight, so he worked especially hard on his batter today, whilst subtly sticking his ass out. It was enough to appear innocent to the casual bystander, but Qui-Gon, who had touched that very ass quite a bit, would certainly notice. And, being the cheeky little shit he was, Obi-Wan made sure to draw his mentor’s attention by “accidentally” hitting his whisk against the side of his metal bowl.

 

Long brown hair, and aged blue eyes whipped towards Obi-Wan’s direction. Qui-Gon, never the one to miss anything, cleared his throat, “Stand up straight,  _ please _ .” Qui-Gon’s bewitchingly attractive voice caught on the last word.

 

Obi-Wan’s face broke into an evil smirk as he rolled his hips back even further. “You mean like this?” he asked, feigning innocence. Qui-Gon, exasperated as he tried to look, couldn’t veil the approval in his eyes. Obi-Wan continued the torture by biting his bottom lip and slowly rotating his hips.

 

“Obi, don’t do this, please,” Qui-Gon begged, voice strained, “I’m supposed to be in a position of power here, don’t make me feel so hopelessly weak.” Obi-Wan ran the tip of his tongue along his top lip. Qui-Gon groaned, setting his utensils down. “Couch, my office, now.”

 

And that evening, Obi-Wan got everything he had hoped to get for his birthday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "wait is the reason obi cant bake literally that he wasnt allowed to nut as a kid? When he and Ani fuck will he suddenly be able to fucking bake a sponge cake!?" -my bestie, after reading this chapter


	6. A total of 12 mixed drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you dare tell me a human can't function after 12 mixed drinks, because I am the human that can.

Obi-Wan loved the Palps as much as the next guy, but Anakin seemed like a fucking fanatic. The entire event, if Anakin wasn’t out schmoozing with politicians, he was by Obi-Wan’s side listing off questionable facts about the Chancellor.

 

“I hear Sheev does podracer commercials, in Tattooine,” Anakin enthusiastically told him. Oh,  _ Sheev _ ? They were on a first name basis now. Obi-Wan couldn’t believe it, he had brought Anakin to buy his silence, but here he was running his mouth. 

 

Why did Obi-Wan feel so wrong? His secret was safe and the cupcakes were a huge success. But, there was a tugging at his heartstrings every time he saw Anakin and the Chancellor address each other with smiles. So, when a waiter came around with a tray of cocktails, Obi-Wan took two, throwing both back irresponsibly fast. Anakin was too busy underagedly eyefucking Palpatine to bother drinking, so Obi-Wan decided to just make his client be designated driver.

 

Ten mixed drinks later and Obi-Wan was feeling it big time. Anakin had come over to him again with some other stupid fact. The annoyance on his face was thinly veiled.

 

“Sheev’s hair used to be full and shiny and beautiful, and his competitors said it was because it was full of secrets,” Anakin rambled.

 

“My hair’s shiny and beautiful right now,” Obi-Wan whined, “why won’t you talk to me about my hair?” Obi-Wan pouted grumpily. He knew he was being a drunk slut, but he was mad Anakin was all but kissing Palpatine’s shoes while he watched on.

 

Anakin wrinkled his nose, “Obi-Wan you smell like a bar. How many drinks have you had?”

 

Obi-Wan frowned, “Oh, so now you’re the alcohol patrol too?”

 

Anakin rolled his eyes, “No, I’m just pointing out you were hungover a couple days ago and you’re drunk right now. Have you no chill?” Apparently not, because the waiter came around one more time with the tray and Obi-Wan grabbed another drink. Anakin rolled his eyes, “hand me the keys to the bakery van.” With no hesitation, Obi-Wan put the keys in Anakin’s hands. Anakin’s eyes zeroed in on the keychain. “Is that a foam slice of wedding cake?” He asked, bemused. 

 

“It is,” Obi-Wan said, very proud of himself, “and if you squeeze it it’s strawberry-scented.”

 

“That’s the most adorable thing I can think of,” Anakin laughed.

 

“You think I’m adorable?” Obi-Wan asked, looking up at the slightly taller Anakin.

 

Anakin smiled, as one does when their drunk friend is making a fool of themselves and needs a glass of water, “Yes, and your hair is shinier than Palpatine’s. Now, please get some water and grab your coat. The party’s almost over, time to go home Obi.” 

 

Obi-Wan stiffened, nobody had called him that since… Well, it had been a while.

 

Anakin noticed the shift in body language, “Oh shit, did I say something wrong?”

 

Obi-Wan shook his head and wiped furiously at his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in public. It’s just that his lonely gay ass was so happy to be called Obi again, especially by Anakin Thighwalker. “No,” he said, voice thicc, “you said everything right.”

 

Anakin relaxed and casually draped his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, skillfully stealing the half-full drink and handing it to the nearest waiter. “Jacket,” he reminded, firmly enough to get the drunk baker to listen.

 

Anakin led a wobbly Obi-Wan back to the baking truck and had a small row getting Obi-Wan to buckle his seatbelt properly, but other than that, the experience wasn’t too awful.

 

“Okay, here’s what’s happening, I’m taking us to the bakery, I packed the display and it’s in the back. I’ll lock the keys to the van in a drawer in the shop. Then I’ll walk you to your apartment I’ve phoned Padmé and she’s going to meet us at your apartment once I’ve made sure you’re in bed safe. Then I’m going home, is that okay?” 

 

Obi-Wan nodded and waved his hand, presumably in affirmation. He thought about how hot Anakin was when he took control. Obi-Wan wondered if Padmé preferred Commanding™ Anakin or Questionably Gay Apparel™ Anakin.

 

Anakin chuckled, “That’s good, I was worried I was being too overbearing. And honestly, I know Panda hates my clothing, but she loves me. And I mean, I would probably be able to dress better if her clothes didn’t take up 40 percent of the space in our apartment. I swear that woman must change outfits every six minutes of solid screen time.” Anakin sighed, “but I love her, you know.”

 

Obi-Wan felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. Had he said all of his thoughts out loud?

 

“You’re still saying them out loud, silly,” Anakin teased.

 

Fuuuuuck. Obi-Wan felt his mouth salivating and hardly had enough time to thank the Lord they had pulled up to the bakery and he jumped out to throw up on the pavement. Anakin came over and rubbed his back in soothing circles. Shit, Obi-Wan felt like a pathetic failure, but didn’t have time to apologize as another wave of nausea came and he convulsed, vomiting more.

 

Anakin kept rubbing his back, “It’s all good, Obi, you gotta get it all out. You had way too much. I should have been watching you better. I’ll make sure you get a nice hot shower when you get home.”

 

Obi-Wan wanted desperately to tell Anakin it wasn’t his job to watch him and monitor his drinking, but he was too weak and still plagued with bad stomach pains. The only upside, it seemed, was that the vomiting had stopped.

 

“On second thought, do you want to spend the night at my place? I worry about leaving you alone,” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan pathetically nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really proud of the Anakin Thighwalker pun and I wish my friends appreciated my jokes more...


	7. The personification of burnt food stuck on a pan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I've come back to university after summer break and in the week since school started again, I've started two jobs and am taking a full-course load.
> 
> Updates may reduce to every other week or be less uniform and just happen when I remember

The sounds of Nabrew below him woke Obi-Wan up. He painfully registered his throbbing headache and sore throat right before panicking in his unfamiliar surroundings. Sitting up too fast and nearly falling backwards, he gave himself a once-over. Sometime last night, the baker had lost his slacks, and they were replaced with… velvet joggers? Those had to be Anakins.

 

Fuck, he remembered Anakin shoving him into a bathroom last night and handing him a pile of clothes before letting him crash on his couch. And he remembered trying to hand Anakin money as thanks, and the two of them spending a solid five minutes passing the bills back and forth. The rest however, was currently black. He had a few memories of staring at Anakin’s ass at Palpatine’s event, but was hard-pressed to remembering anything relevant to how he ended up on Anakin’s couch. Obviously alcohol had been involved, but how much, how fast?

 

Obi-Wan felt like the personification of burnt food stuck to a pan: stiff, undesirable, in need of a good scrub. He picked up his slacks and brogues and padded to Anakin’s bathroom. He would head to Nabrew, thank his friends/clients/overstepped boundaries? for their hospitality, then make the walk of shame home. Was it the walk of shame if he wasn’t asham-- wait, no, he was definitely ashamed. It was still going to be a walk of shame.

 

Stealing some of the toothpaste on the bathroom counter and using his index finger, Obi-Wan hastily “brushed” his teeth to feel a little less like trash. Giving himself a once-over in the bathroom, he decided he was as good as he was going to get feeling like he was. He slipped his shoes on, got lost looking for the door, and finally made his way down the stairs.

 

Luckily it was still only 8am, so his shop technically wouldn’t have to open late. And his first scheduled appointment wasn’t until 2pm, so he could easily sober up all morning so long as he sat in the shop.

 

“Obi-Wan,” Padmé said enthusiastically, albeit a little too loud for his hangover, “how are you feeling? You’re up pretty early.”

 

Concealing the frown threatening to give away the fact that he was wickedly hungover, Obi-Wan put on his best game face and replied, “ _ Hello there _ . I’m good, I guess” Unluckily for him, he sounded terrible, like his congested sinus and raw throat were making bets on which one could make him sound more miserable. 

 

Padmé raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, but luckily didn’t push him any further. Instead it was Anakin who spoke, “Woah there, you sure you’re good? You sound terrible.”

 

Didn’t a man who was wearing pastel succulent-printed socks, visible beneath the rolled cuff of his chinos, have something better to do than judge Obi-Wan? The baker scrunched his nose, and hoarsely replied, “Okay, maybe I feel like complete shit, but I already feel like I made an ass out of myself crashing on your couch, and I’ve no intention of continuing to overstep my boundaries today.” Shit, that might have been harsh. But Daftakin Skywalker didn’t seem to take notice.

 

“You remember any of last night?” Anakin’s voice said concern, but his face said he was getting off on being the only one who remembered their evening. 

 

Obi-Wan was in no mood to have more regrets, so he shrugged nonchalantly and nodded his head. “I mean I have some blanks, but I remember the cute waiter, the drinks, the parking lot, and you making me put on those pants - which are folded on the Chesterfield on top of the blankets.”

 

Anakin, seeming convinced, nodded. “Thanks, you want any coffee, we can probably spare a cup for our favorite wedding cake baker.” Padmé nodded beside him in agreement.

“Thanks for the offer, and thanks for last night, but I have to pass. I need a shower and to get to work,” Obi-Wan said shaking his head. Anakin nodded in the manner one nods when their hungover friend is being a little too ambitious, but let the baker on his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's hangover is basically my hangover: I feel like ass for a hot minute but then after an hour or so of waking up I'm fine. I would like to dedicate this chapter to alcoholism awareness, it took my sister pointing out that I was never sober anymore for me to realize I had a problem. Currently in recovery, had a few relapses, but will soon have my longest sobriety streak in two days from the date of this update :)


	8. Two bros going to a bookstore with no homoerotic subtext

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey beans, it's been a minute since my last update - thanks for sticking around though! If you don't know the scene where Joffrey Baratheon gets poisoned in Game of Thrones, google it before you read this chapter. It'll make my jokes funnier.

T-minus three months to the Skywalker/Amidala wedding, and Obi-Wan was about ready to smash his store’s phone. It seemed that Anakin was too fucking slow to realize that he had other clients. And instead of just calling at night, Anakin would now call at any hour of the day to pester the everloving hell out of Obi-Wan. 

 

At one point, Obi asked his client if he was like this with all the various staff hired for the wedding, and Anakin admitted that he was not this “friendly” (Anakin’s words, not his) with the other hired positions. What had the baker done to be tormented so relentlessly by this manchild who couldn’t seem to do anything mildly adultlike without the help of Padmé? And every evening, it seemed, Anakin came by, around closing, just to ask Obi-Wan out for some new “bachelor’s party” event.

 

“Anakin, I’m fairly certain a bachelor’s party is supposed to last only one night, you don’t invite your cake baker, and it’s not something as mundane as going to the used bookstore together,” Obi-Wan snapped, after one particularly stressful evening.

 

Anakin looked like Joffrey Baratheon as he was being poisoned: betrayed, confused, dying. “Uh, excuse me, the used bookstore is my definition of a rager, Kenobi. Let me fucking live please. Anyways, you’re a sad lesbian who goes home to watch DVR recordings of House Hunters and drink excessively. The least you could do is push that back an hour and go look at books like a couple... of bros.” 

 

Apparently being called a sad, sexless, unaware of client-baker relations, socially pathetic, and ugly lesbian is all it took to get Obi-Wan to go to a used bookstore.

 

“Oh my, is that a copy of  _ Five Quarters of the Orange _ ?” Obi-Wan asked, bordering on giddy excitement, “Ani, look at the price, only four dollars. And it looks practically brand new. I’m going to cry.”

 

Anakin raised an eyebrow at his book thrifting bro, casually ignoring that this was the first time he had been called Ani by him, “Could it be, Obi-Wan Kenobi, that he who was being an ass about the bookstore is now enjoying himself and having a good time?”

 

Obi-Wan turned his chin away from Anakin defiantly, “Maybe, but this book is a masterpiece. The daughter is named Framboise, which literally means raspberry, do you have any idea how cute that is? I wholeheartedly plan to name my first dog Framboise.”

 

“Dog, not daughter?”

 

“Well, as you know, I’m a sad lesbian, odds don’t really look good on me ever having kids. I mean look at me, I’m thirty years old and my only real relationships have been with my late mentor and cheap wines.” Obi-Wan sighed sadly.

 

“Wait, you had a relationship with Qui-Gon Jinn,” Anakin’s interest was fully piqued, “like what kind of a relationship? A relationship kind of relationship, did he spread frosting in unmentionable places?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Obi-Wan add way more to the list of deprecating things Anakin said.


	9. The Girth of Venus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really depressed today, so I decided to post because writing trashy fic is healthier than self-harm.

“Uh,” Obi-Wan began nervously, as frosting was being spread unmentionable places. “Qui-Gon, in what ways will this make me a better baker?” The teen was standing, nude, on a giant sheet cake cut to look like a clamshell - Qui-Gon was bent on recreating “The Birth of Venus” before the evening was over. His mentor stood, alternating between piping frosting in the image of Venus’s golden tresses and taking a step back to admire Obi-Wan’s embarrassed face.

 

“Well, art is said to imitate life, so to imitate art you become better at life.” Qui-Gon was very focused on piping frosting in a way such that it seemed to defy gravity. Obi knew that he had to work on his manipulation of the  force frosting if he ever wanted to become a Breadi Master like Qui-Gon.

 

“You sound senile, old man, are you sure the sugar fumes aren’t making you mad,” Obi-Wan ask cheekily.

 

With a roll of his eyes and a good-natured snort, Qui-Gon lightly flicked his mentee. “Hold still a minute, I’m icing a masterpiece here.”

 

“Qui-Gon, you’re putting cold frosting on me and you keep looking at my crotch but not doing anything. I feel like some common strumpet, on display for everyone,” Obi-Wan whined.

 

“Yes, but you’re my strumpet. Now, please, let me finish, I’ve got a bake-off with Darth Maul in less than twenty-four hours. Let me practice my technique here.” Qui-Gon changed tips, but only just the tip, to begin piping some petals from the flowers of Botticelli's work.

 

“Qui-Gon, it’s a bake-off, aren’t you competing for best muffin recipe for Dooku’s Diner?” Obi-Wan yawned, he had sat  _ mostly _ still for the past half hour and he was itching to remove a bit more of Qui-Gon’s clothing.

 

“That’s Count Dooku to you, and yes. Maybe I won’t need to ice anything, but I am really learning a lot here  _ about a lot of things. _ ” Qui-Gon took one final look at his work. “There, it’s done, you’re beautiful.” Obi-Wan buried his flushed face in his hands. If he had a dollar for every time his mentor made him blush, Obi might have been able to afford the latest Xbox console.

 

“Wait,” Obi-Wan realized, “how is this all coming off?”

 

“Hmm,” Qui-Gon hummed, pressing a kiss to Obi’s shoulder blade, “guess you’ll have to find out.”

 

Obi-Wan silently thanked the lord that he had decided to do some pruning this morning in the shower as Qui-Gon lightly took hold of Obi’s slender waist and licked just to the left of what he’d just piped. But, as Qui-Gon said, “art is meant to be consumed.” By that standard, Obi-Wan was pretty sure that meant that his ass was the art, and the anticipation for the imminent art appreciation seminar caused him to moan gently.

 

Obi-Wan shivered involuntarily. Qui-Gon quirked a brow, “Seems like we should warm you up, doesn’t it?” By warm up, Qui-Gon had apparently meant watch Moulin Rouge and fuck on the couch. That night, Obi-Wan learned he looked like Ewan McGregor. Qui-Gon’s favorite actor must have been Ewan McGregor because every time the character Christian had a singing scene he came faster than cops in white neighborhoods. By the time the bake-off arrived, Qui-Gon was going to be thoroughly practiced in his technique.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't break the fourth wall if you don't believe in walls.


	10. Leather != Pleather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is a reference to the fact that I'm a freelance developer on the side while I get my Bachelor's. It just means "leather is not equal to pleather" and is a joke from this chapter...

“Anakin, I’m not really comfortable having this kind of a conversation with a client,” Obi-Wan said, voice strained: flashbacks to Qui-Gon always gave him a hard-on. “I’m going to go buy this book. Please forget I said anything.” The poor baker ended up nearly leaving the store, but in a magically contrived moment of Hollywood motion picture bliss, Anakin reached out and grabbed his wrist.

 

“Wait, no, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have gone there. You’re my friend and you’ve never asked me about my sex life even though I spend all my evenings with you these days.” Anakin looked at his shoes, and for the first time, Obi-Wan considered that Anakin really was spending all the prime sex hours with him. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been fighting with Panda Bear quite a bit, about everything. She’s nervous about this wedding and the way it will effect both of our images, I’m nervous because I’ve loved her since I was a kid and she just barely started noticing me.” Anakin sniffed, and wiped angrily at his eyes, like a politician getting caught in a sex scandal, “I just wonder sometimes if it’s even worth it. I love her so much, but sometimes I wonder if I actually love her or the image that I have on a pedestal of her because she was my childhood crush. And what if she’s only marrying me out of pity? She’s gonna be thirty here in a few years, I know she wants kids, do I just happen to be the most convenient option - the kid who asked if she was an angel when I first met her?”

 

From his point of view, Obi saw a man with cold feet before his wedding, insecure because he thought his future wife was out of his league. “Anakin,” he said, gently placing one hand on Anakin’s back, and the other on the back of his head to bring him in for an embrace suitable for sobbing (but also heteronormative enough not to arouse  ~~ him any more ~~ anyone's suspicions). Obi-Wan knew all about insecurity, and he knew telling Anakin how wonderful he was wouldn’t help the real problem, so instead he just gently rubbed his friend’s smol back. “If you think I don’t fight with the bottle opener, you’re sadly mistaken, I’ve lost many a cork in a bottle of wine because it’s just human nature to fight the things we love when our happiness is so close.” That garnered a sad chuckle from Ani, so Obi-Wan took that as a cue to continue. “And honestly, I see the way Padmé looks at you. I don’t think anyone could tolerate those pleather pants of yours if they didn’t truly love you.”

 

Anakin shifted and wiped his nose on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, “But you tolerate my  _ leather _ pants, and you don’t love me.” Normally, Obi-Wan would have been furious that someone had the audacity to wipe their snot on him and insist the tacky material was actually leather, but Anakin’s comment babashook him. Did he love Anakin? No, there was no way, he had never fallen for a client before, Obi-Wan totally knew how to separate work and play. Or did he? There was that time and the Palpatine Party…

 

“Yes, but you pay me, it’s a little different,” Obi-Wan justified, more for himself than Anakin, “I’m your employee, and when our arrangement is up, though I want to be close friends, I will definitely tell you how I feel about your _ pleather  _ pants…” 

  
That seemed to be exactly what Anakin needed because he sniffled loudly and stood up straight. Aside from the puffy eyes and runny nose, he was good ol’ Ani, back once more. “C’mon,  _ old man _ , we should check out cookbooks, I heard someone here can’t bake a cake to save his life. Maybe after we can head to the fashion and textiles because one of us also can’t seem to distinguish between leather and pleather.” Had they not been in public Obi-Wan would have pushed Anakin for calling him old and being a little shit. But, the baker was glad his  ~~ butt buddy ~~ close friend was feeling less self-loathing-y and more tease Obi-Wan-ish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing NaNoWriMo this year, so I have a lot of pre-written chaps, updates will proceed as normal until I run out of content, then it will be sporadic again :)


	11. Dick Platforms

Obi-Wan was immensely thankful for Anakin’s calls today, they broke up the seemingly neverending stream of clients coming into his shop. Wedding season  _ was _ just around the corner. Every single couple was the same old “We fell in love in college, we’re tying the knot after five years of dating.” Yawn. The next couple that wanted a naked cake was going to push him into clinical depression. One does not simply come to the best cake decorator in the galaxy and tell him that they don’t want any fucking frosting on their cake.

Today’s “bachelor party” was a trip to outlet mall with Padmé and her bridal party to pick out shoes. Obi-Wan was nearly certain he had only been invited because Padmé knew Anakin couldn’t pick out shoes for shit, or maybe he was just their token gay (though Anakin certainly appeared to have an eye on the position). Whatever the reason, Obi was more than willing to go. He was dying to get away from the bakery.

Enter Anakin, the groom to be, dressed in yet another terrible ensemble. Only Anakin would think to pair Adidas track pants with his fucking Toms. And was that a women’s longline cardigan?  _ It was a women’s longline cardigan.  _ Obi mentally noted that instead of token gay, Anakin seemed to be vying for the token grandma position in the wedding shoe shopping dream team. Padmé, to her own credit, was looking every part of an excited bride to be: her  _ actual _ women’s longline cardigan was in a flattering silhouette and didn’t make her look at all like a frumpy elderly woman.

“Panda bear, look,” Anakin exclaimed, holding up a very slutty pair of lucite heels. Had Obi been talking about his penis, the heels were a good eight inches, but more realistically were more like a solid six inches. Obi-Wan did have to wonder if, like shoe platforms, they made platform dicks.

“Ani, if you want to marry a stripper, please tell me now, so I can call off this expensive wedding.” Padmé rolled her eyes and moved along the racks, before holding up a pair of flats with cat faces embroidered on them.

Anakin scoffed, upon eyeing the shoes, “The only pussy I need on our wedding night-“

“OKAY!” Obi-Wan exclaimed. “There’s children here, let’s watch the language.” Anakin rolled his eyes and muttered something about how being a child of God wasn’t grounds for calling yourself a child.

 

“Oh, Obi-Wan are you trying to be the pu-” Anakin was cut off by a death glare from his fiancé.

Four hours later, Padmé had settled on a pair of pumps in the same mauve as her bridesmaid dresses, and all the girls found black shoes that suited their own personal styles. Padmé also bought the cat flats and scowled at Obi-Wan as she made the transaction, effectively buying his silence. After a long day of shopping, Obi-Wan was ready to curl up with some box wine and fuzzy socks and cry about how lonely and gay he was. However, Anakin “sixth sense” Skywalker had a way with sensing when Obi wanted him around the least. So the daft groom thought it would be a wonderful “dude’s trip” to go get pedicures, without Padmé. And with that suggestion, Anakin had secured both the token gay and token grandma position.

Another hour later, Obi got home to his beloved Franzia and looked at his pale pink toenails. Okay, maybe toenail polish was a little cool, but only a little. He wiggled his toes and thought he might have to make  ~~ penis ~~ pedis a monthly treat. Then his phone vibrated (luckily it was in his front pocket):

_ heyyyy, luv u xoxo no homo –Ana Banana _

Ana Banana? Anakin, what the fuck? Also, if Obi-Wan did pedis, they would be alone from now own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've wanted a pair of cat flats for a solid seven years and I still haven't gotten any... one day...


	12. Pauvre Petit Skywalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a fight with my own girlfriend, but it was over the fact that she leaves hair in the shower. And it wasn't a fight so much as a few passive aggressive texts from me :)
> 
> I also cried from laughter when I got the chance to crack a few of the jokes this chapter.

At midnight, a pleasantly tipsy Obi-Wan was about to slide into bed when his phone rang, playing the classic single girl’s anthem, “No Scrubs”. He waited a bit, to let the song play through til the chorus. He looked and saw Anakin’s number in the caller ID. How the fuck had Skywalker gotten his personal line? Was that from that one drunken night at the Palpster’s? Regardless of how, Obi picked up.

 

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin sobbed into his ear, “Can I come to your place?”

 

“Anakin, what the shit? Why are you calling me and not one of your actual friends?”

 

“I don’t have any friends, please, Brobi-Wan, I need you. You’re my only hope. I’ve got no one else to turn to.” His pitiful sobs continued for the whole minute that it took Obi’s intoxicated ass to process what was going on.

 

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on over,” he said, throwing on an  _ actual _ robe (not his expensive coat). Saying goodbye, the baker quickly tidied his apartment and brushed his teeth to not be a complete slob.

 

Anakin arrived, in a very un-Anakin fashion - he was wearing large sunglasses to hide his puffy eyes and the aura around him was sad. “I’m so sorry, I know you like to sleep a lot or whatever,” Ani mumbled, sniffling and taking a step in. Mentally note, dear reader, how forward Ani’s being, not even waiting to be invited in before pushing into Obi-Wan’s home.

 

“Uh, no, it’s fine, glad you reached out. Appreciate that you trust me. Wanna tell me what’s up? Want a drink?” Obi-Wan knew full-well Anakin was underage, but everything could be fixed by cheap wine, right?

 

Anakin nodded and stepped forwards, embracing Obi without warning. “Padmé and I had a fight, and she told me to get out.” Anakin heaved a few more sobs before answering the question of what the subject of the fight was. “She’s mad that I spend so much time with you.”

 

Obi-Wan, not a fan of being the center of conflict, just tried to be supportive by letting poor, sweet, innocent, Ani cry it out. “Wanna, uh, watch a movie? Something good to take your mind off this fight?” Anakin nodded into Obi’s clavicle, and shifted, standing to once more be taller than Obi-Wan. 

  
Pauvre petit Skywalker was looking especially pathetic, so Obi-Wan knew exactly what  _ high quality _ film about believing in love would be the perfect remedy tonight: Moulin Rouge. The iconic movie/musical held a special place for the baker, since it was one of the last films that Obi-Wan ever got to see with Qui-Gon before he passed away (the actual last film they watched together was Taken, but Obi-Wan had repressed that memory, as Liam Neeson looked too much like his late, great mentor, perhaps if the author is up to it, she’ll write  _ another _ flashback chap about watching movies - or maybe she’ll finally get around the bake-off).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I posted back to back because I had some writer's block today (day 3 of NaNo). The one thing that never seems to be hard to crank out for me is this fic - guess shipping Anakin and Obi-Wan is that deeply ingrained in my psyche. Also went to see a showing of Tommy Wisseau's "The Room" at my university's film club today. It was about as good as I remembered...
> 
> S/o to everyone who comments - I stopped replying to every message (it's not laziness, I just get genuinely uncomfortable because I feel like I don't have enough to say) so have my love in the notes instead <3


	13. Ewan McGregor is a dime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back from the dead? Alive and with more strikethroughs than ever!

“I know you think I’m a drunk slut but let me tell you that alcohol is magic, want some wine? I promise, as the ‘responsible’ adult I’ll cut you off if you get too philosophical or depressed.” Obi-Wan was fully expecting to be rejected. Much to his surprise, Anakin agreed. Seemed his cher Ani was in need of a little liquid heartache relief. Grabbing a stemless wine glass, Obi poured his dear guest a glass of only the finest of boxed wines.

 

“Wait, are we going to watch Moulin Rouge?” Anakin asked, eyeing the DVD case in Obi-Wan’s hand as he accepted the glass of wine.

 

“Um, yeah, it’s an iconic film.”

 

“Obi-Wan I swear to god if we’re only watching this so you can cry at the musical numbers I’ll go find a motel to sleep in. Also, it’s a musical, that’s pretty fucking gay. And Ewan McGregor’s ugly.”

 

Obi-Wan blinked in disbelief, needing a minute to process everything wrong with Ani’s sentence. Taking a deep breath, and waving the DVD case as he spoke, in a piss-poor attempt to emphasize his passion, he began his rebuttal. “First off, fuck you, musicals aren’t gay. Second off, I happen to think Ewan McGregor’s quite a dime. People tell me all the time I look like him.”

 

Anakin squinted his eyes, studying the case, then Obi, then the case, and settling once again on Obi. “Nah, I don’t see it.”

 

Obi-Wan tried his best not to bust  ~~ a nut ~~ out a box of tissues when he looked over and saw Anakin silently sobbing every time Christian professed his love for Satine. Somewhere in the middle of the production of Christian’s show, Anakin started crying audibly and Obi-Wan looked over to the manchild on his  ~~ crotch ~~ couch. Being the good bro he was, and not at all because the music was being drowned out by Skywalker’s sobbing, Obi paused the movie.

 

“Padmé and I used to sing,” Anakin said, voice thick from sadness. “And then she  _ insisted _ that you come shoe shopping, but it was all a fucking trap. I hate women, I’m done it’s over. I’m going to marry a man now, someone just as hot as Panda but who  ~~ thrusts in ~~ trusts me. No more elaborate ruses, only bites and bruises.” By this point Anakin was on glass number three of wine - Obi-Wan was no bitch so the glasses were filled to the top - and Obi couldn’t be sure if Anakin would have fully disclosed this whilst sober. So he mentally filed this conversation under “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and was on his way to the only distraction tactic he knew: self-deprecation...

 

“I mean, men who want to marry men aren’t that much better. Remember how drunk and pathetic I got at Palpatine’s?” Obi-Wan laughed, but it was kind of off. Luckily Smashedakin Biwalker was too drunk to notice. Obi-Wan hated thinking of that night, but if it made Anakin feel even a little better it was okay. And Anakin’s small smile let Obi-Wan know he had done the right thing.

 

With a few more drunk mumbles, Anakin cozied himself in the throw blanket he was borrowing and sat through the rest of the movie.

 

“Okay, I take it all back, Ewan McGregor’s a hottie. Any other movies you’re into?”

 

“Uh…” Obi-Wan quickly racked his brain, mentally cursing himself for not having a “just dude films” list already made. “I mean, I kind of have a thing for Natalie Portman, so I love Black Swan and V for Vendetta.”

 

Anakin grimaced, “Yeah, no, let’s not do any NatPortz movies, she looks too much like Padmé.”

 

Obi-Wan looked at his wine, then at Anakin, then back to his wine, finally settling on Anakin. “Nah, I don’t see it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sweet readers! I know I've been MIA, and I apologize. I got some terrible news in life and took a break from writing to sort stuff out. All's good now though. And my finals are just about over, so I can focus on cranking out some good content for my beloved readers. I'm also working on a new fic, so perhaps I will have two works on this account. More content soon come (as in Wed like the old upload schedule).


	14. No Bromo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something to brighten your Wednesday

Somehow, in the middle of the night, Obi-Wan had passed out on top of Anakin. No, wait, Anakin was on top, topless. Fuck it, doesn’t matter who topped and who bottomed, but somehow they were both tangled on the couch. Obi twitched his nose, he had, surprisingly, not gotten drunk last night, and so he wasn’t in the deep alcohol slumber that Anakin appeared to be in. That also meant Obi-Wan was up at a normal hour while Anakin snored on, heavy and immobile, trapping the poor baker so he couldn’t get up and head into work. Obi-Wan had played a lot of Jenga in his day, but never with limbs, and he was lousy anyways, so his only escape option was to wake Anakin.

 

Waking Anakin proved to be a lot harder than expected. Attempt one was to just squirm around a bit, and that resulted in Anakin mumbling and gripping him tighter. Attempt two was Obi-Wan trying to wake Anakin up by talking really loud, right in his ear, but Anakin had laughed in his sleep and nuzzled Obi-Wan’s cheek. Third time, though completely unintentional, was a charm. Try as he might, Obi wasn’t strong enough to resist the spread of warmth that had overcome him when Anakin had nuzzled his cheek (though in his defence, it was really hard to get a date these days, so Obi-Wan was a little touch-starved).

 

As Anakin sensed the baker’s erection pressing against him, he shot awake and yelled “NO HOMO!”

 

Ani scrambled to get up, and in the process, managed to knee Obi-Wan in the groin. Obi curled up on the couch and muttered a slew of profanity while the stunned Skywalker jumped up and panicked. 

 

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, can I get you some ice for your crotch?” Normally, Anakin in a tizzy would have been cute as hell, but seeing as he had just (1) said “no homo” (this was the second time, dammit) and (2) kneed him in the groin, Obi-Wan wasn’t really in the mood for taking in the sights.

 

Five minutes of Anakin stumbling around in Obi-Wan’s kitchen later, the baker had some crotch ice. 

 

“Hey, Anakin, remind me never to let you drink again.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crotch ice = best ice


	15. I don't like flan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a great journey and I thank you all for sticking around until the end!

Obi-Wan had spent the entire day changing ice packs on his groin. Sure, it was a little excessive, but it gave him some purpose as he sat through the daily barrage of shitty cake requests. As he was about to close the store, he got the much-anticipated call from Nabrew.

 

“Now, Anakin, you listen here, I won’t forgive you for last night or this morning. I’ll have you know it’s because of you that I had to ice my dick all day.”

 

“Obi-Wan?” The clearly pissed female voice answered from the other end of the line. “What about Anakin and your dick?”

 

Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck fuck. Obi-Wan had sat in it this time. With his luck today, it was no surprise Padmé had been the one to call. How long was too long to keep saying “uhhhh” into the phone before coming up with a proper explanation for a bride-to-be who had just misunderstood why her openly gay cake baker had mentioned his genitals with regard to her fiancé?

 

Apparently, 48 seconds was too long because after 48 seconds a clearly enraged Padmé said “Nabrew. Now.”

 

For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan did a walk of shame, but not after a tryst.

 

Walking into Nabrew this time was like walking into a recently demolished Mustafar - not at all pleasant, and would probably result in the death of Padmé…’s relationship with Anakin.

 

_ It’s a trap _ , he thought to himself. When he entered the store, the only cheerful noise was the tinkling the of the bell atop the door frame. Other than that, the store was empty of any life, save for Anakin at a stool and Padmé behind the counter, wearing faces he dreaded to see. Anakin looked like a puppy who had been told he wasn’t a good boy, and Padmé looked like she was out for blood today.

 

Obi-Wan took the seat two over from Anakin, so as not to piss off Padmé too much, but still close enough to her that she would hardly have to raise her hand if she had plans to bitch slap him for his homewrecking ways. 

 

“Flan?” Padmé asked them both. Though her inflection denoted it as a question, her face made it clear that refusal wasn’t an option. Obi-Wan swallowed audibly and nodded. Anakin, however, shook his head.

 

“I don’t like flan - it’s custardy and rich and irritatingly sweet,” Anakin said, in a comically poor attempt at imitating human emotion.

 

Obi-Wan apparently didn’t have to worry about himself being the one injured. Just as soon as she raised her palm to slap Anakin across the face, Padmé stopped and collected herself. She shook her head and took a breath, rolling her shoulders back and regaining some semblance of composure. No domestic abuse today, thank god.

 

“Out, both of you, out.” Padmé said, voice low and calculatedly even.

 

“Bu-” Anakin started.

 

“No, out of my store, don’t bother coming back anytime soon, Ani.” And Padmé, who had begun twisting the engagement ring on her left hand, took it off and put it on the counter, cementing how serious she was about this decision.

 

With that, Obi-Wan placed a hand on Anakin’s shoulder and practically had to drag him out of the coffee shop. But there was no way the baker was going to stay, not with the tension so palpable one could feel themselves choking as if by an invisible fist closing around their throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSYCH! I still have too many trash dates for Anakin and Obi-Wan to go on... I'm not going anywhere for a while :)


	16. Cinematic crying in the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice quick one to hold you over as I figure out how to build a believable Obi-Kin relationship without rushing poor, sweet Ani

“Fuck,” Obi-Wan said, as soon as they had left Nabrew. Before he really had time to collect his thoughts, Anakin started sobbing, as only a man in touch with his emotions can. The younger male sat on the curb and buried his face in his hands as his body was racked with several sobs.

 

Obi knew better than to get between a man and catharsis, so he stood, pitifully wanting to be of more help, but knowing that there was nothing to do but be there for his friend.

 

In his career as a wedding cake baker, Obi-Wan had seen many the death of love. In most cases, he played no part in the drama. But this time wasn’t most cases - he _was_ the drama this time. And no amount of apologizing would be good enough for what he had done. Obi-Wan “Homewrecker” Kenobi had been the root cause of the engagement being called off just now. This was one type of pain that neither Betty Crocker nor Charles Shaw could remedy.

 

And Anakin remained on the curb, just letting it all out. The only thing that could make the scene worse would be if a cinematic downpour came, drenching the young man so thoroughly that his tears became indistinguishable from the raindrops. As if the heavens wanted to piss off Obi-Wan, a loud thunderclap rang and a freak storm came seemingly out of nowhere. The sky poured out some cold sheets on the two homies.

 

 _Note to self: stop thinking of dramatic shit because it always seems to become real. And while we’re at that, stop getting involved in other people’s marriages, Obi-Wan._ The baker mentally cursed himself, but he knew the rain was no place to sob unless you were in a fictional world.

 

“Anakin, I know I’m the last person you want to rely on right now, but you’re getting soaked. It’s pissing rain, let me take you to my apartment, you can dry off and sleep on the couch. Then we can sort things out tomorrow.”

 

Anakin, typically talkative, was silent as he allowed the baker to lead him back to his apartment. This would mark the second night in a row Obi-Wan’s place had been a crash pad, and it seemed this would be a habit for as long as he was involved in Padmé and Anakin’s lives in any way. For the first time, the baker was less than enthusiastic leading a single young man back to his home to spend the night.


	17. Pastel Goth Aesthetic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was on a plane for six hours, messed up my schedule, then came home and, instead of sleeping, I played through the entire story mode of DoA 5. So I decided a chapter might be a nice treat for anyone else awake at 3:30 am PST.

Obi-Wan would never tell Anakin about it unless directly asked, but he had spent the entire night awake, listening to the tossing and turning of his distraught guest. The newly-single Skywalker had slept fitfully through the entire night, and Obi-Wan had taken all the guilt and blame upon himself. There was no way he was going to allow Anakin to be alone today, not in his apartment full of enough booze to drink an army under the table. Drinking while distressed only led to bad things, he knew from experience.

So, with only pure intentions in his heart (probably a first when it came to his dealings with Ani), he resolved to take Anakin to the bakery today. Maybe a little frosting could get the boy’s mind off his recent breakup.

Obi-Wan padded out to his living room, carrying a stack of fresh clothes, just ugly enough to suit Anakin’s taste, but comfortable enough to provide the kind of support a newly-single lad would need.

“Anakin, time to get up. You can use my shower, I’ve brought you some clothes. You’re coming to work with me today, I need an assistant, and you need to get your mind off stuff.” Obi-Wan watched as his guest sat up and rubbed his swollen eyes. Simply nodding, Anakin grabbed the clothes and wandered to the bathroom. Obi-Wan’s heart was breaking, but he felt like he wasn’t in a place to comfort Anakin physically, not yet.

Approximately twenty minutes of wasting all the hot water later, Anakin came out, towel around his waist. With a mad expression and hair dripping wet, he held up the shirt Obi had given him to wear.

“What is this?” He said, angrily, holding up the graphic tee with the words  _ bad bitch  _ printed in tacky pastel letters. “Do you go out of your way to taunt me?”

Obi scoffed, “It was the only thing I owned worthy of someone who thinks pleather is leather.”

Ani looked for a second like he was about to fly off the handle, then he put his hand up to his mouth and started laughing hysterically. “You’re still on that? God, it’s true what they say about old men holding grudges.”

Obi-Wan wanted to be upset at being called old, but Anakin was standing there, laughing, and it felt really good. Especially since Obi-Wan had spent all of last night worrying about him. So, letting Anakin continue to just let out all the emotion, he shrugged, and walked over to his closet, pulling out some other random shirt that would probably fit, and tossed it Anakin’s way. Ani, too lost in his laughter, got hit in the face by the new shirt, causing him to laugh even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been informed that 20 minutes is not a long shower. For me, I shower like 12 minutes if I'm shaving my legs, and less otherwise, so 20 is v long for me.


	18. IKEA Futon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is this entire fic a bad self-insert and you're Obi-Wan?" -my friend when I asked him to read this chapter

“Obi-Wan, do you ever just get so mad at your clients?” Anakin asked, sandy brows furrowed as he attempted to put just the tip into a piping bag.

“I mean, occasionally, a young lover will piss me off so much I have to enlist his services as a cake decorator as reparations,” Obi said, teasingly, throwing a good-natured wink in Ani’s direction.

“No, not just men, I mean the women and children too,” Anakin said, with the voice of one who had neglected to realize the point zipping above their head.

Obi-Wan was dumbfounded. Apparently, sorrow made Anakin more daft than usual. But, if answering inane questions was the way to get the boy to open up, then answer inane questions he would, goddammit. Obi would be lying to himself, however, if he were to say he did not want Anakin to open up in other ways as well.

“I mean, I suppose I do get mad at clients.”

“Do you ever, just feel the rage bubble up inside you like an angry… anger?” Anakin at this point still hadn’t inserted the tip into the bag. Instead, he held the bag and tip in separate hands and flitted his eyes between the two, as if his sheer will would put them together.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, grabbing the piping bag from the other man. “That’s called working in retail. What are you really trying to say?” Unlike Anakin, Obi-Wan had plenty of experience inserting just the tip, so he gently teased the tip into the piping bag before handing the joined pieces back to Anakin.

“Hypothetically, there’s a client you had, who you are really mad at. But it’s not their fault. It’s your fault, hypothetically, because you’re really bad at speaking up. You, hypothetically, let this person run your entire life. And now, hypothetically, you feel like you’re drowning in self-pity. Because you hypothetically did nothing wrong in your own hypothetical eyes. But you can also see how this hypothetical client could be hypothetically mad about the things you did because hypothetically you went behind their back in a way. But it’s not like you had any hypothetical friends in this scenario, so hypothetically the person you  _ emotionally cheated _ with was like not really cheating. But all of this is completely hypothetical.” Anakin had apparently taken note from Busta Rhymes because after this monologue he had to take a second and catch his breath and slow his tongue.

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, voice full of genuine concern. “Thank you for feeling safe enough to share that  _ hypothetical scenario _ with me. And honestly, you should apologize to this client, but also realize that you can’t fix it all overnight. If you want to continue working for them, you have to be willing to be completely transparent. And if you can’t seem to do that, then maybe it’s time to understand that you’re not ready to work with that client for the rest of your life.”

Anakin blinked furiously several times, but it was too late, he was crying. Through his tears, he nodded. “Thanks, Obi, I needed that. It wasn’t hypothetical.”

Obi-Wan nodded, “I know.” He opened his arms and gestured with both hands for Anakin to come in for a hug. With no hesitation, the taller man came into Obi-Wan’s embrace and the two stood there, misty-eyed, for what felt like a lifetime.

Eventually, Ani unwrapped himself from Obi’s arms. “Thanks,” he said, voice thick, “I needed that too.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and he knew that great progress had just been made. They returned to the apartment that night after going to the local IKEA to buy a futon for Anakin, who would most likely be staying long-term.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IKEA futons cost less than $100, so don't think Obi-Wan's wasting all his wages


	19. Finally Qui-Gon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> b r a n m u f f i n

“Don’t I at least get a kiss for good luck before my bake-off?” Qui-Gon asked, one eyebrow raised as his playful smirk made Obi-Wan’s heart melt. Obi-Wan was in the mood for being a bit cheeky, so he stood on his toes and placed a brief peck to his mentor’s cheek. Qui-Gon gave an exasperated eye roll before grabbing Obi by the chin and kissing so deeply Obi-Wan thought he might have to hide an erection in public.

“Be careful, please,” Obi-Wan said against Qui-Gon’s lips, “I hear Darth Maul plays dirty in these bake-offs.”

“Don’t worry, I’m dirty too.” With a quick farewell peck, Qui-Gon was off, ready to bake. Those would be the last words Qui-Gon ever said to Obi-Wan. And poor Obi-Wan was too busy turning red to have the common sense to stare at Qui-Gon’s ass one last time.

This bake-off, Jinn v. Maul, the event of the season, was available via pay-per-view. Qui-Gon and Darth Maul stood in the kitchen setup provided by the TV station. Obi-Wan remained off-set, out of view of the cameras, cheering silently for his beloved erastes. The challenge was muffins, and Obi grumpily noted there had been no reason for him to have had frosting on his ass the night before.

It was just a bake-off, and yet Darth Maul made a big show of sharpening his clearly hand-forged Japanese style chef knife, looking eerily reminiscent of a samurai. Oddly enough, it seemed Maul had nothing to cut. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was to completely ignore that Darth Maul had a long, sharp blade until it was too late.

Obi-Wan’s entire focus was on his mentor and how sexy the older man looked as he made the most important muffins of his career. Qui-Gon was mixing the batter for some blueberry muffins (blueberries, of course, as a subtle nod to Obi-Wan and his blue eyes). Qui-Gon, at some point while mixing, wiped his forehead, and Obi-Wan felt himself rouging intensely, imagining himself as the designated wiper of brows.

By the time the muffins were placed on the plates for the judges to look at, Obi-Wan was thinking only of stroking Qui-Gon’s beard. As a show of good faith, the competitors were supposed to hand each other a muffin, as well. So Obi watched as the two rivals shook hands, and swapped muffins. Darth Maul had chosen to make bran muffins, a dull choice next to Qui-Gon’s blueberry, but Maul never seemed to look like he had made a less than ideal flavor selection.

The next critical seconds played out for Obi-Wan slower than anything he had ever experienced up to that point. While his adolescent mind raced with thoughts of “I want him to eat me like that muffin” and “I hope he feeds me from his mouth”, his eyes registered every single tiny moment as it occurred. First, Qui-Gon had accepted the bran muffin with a smile. Then, he had given it a good poke, to test its density. Finally, Qui-Gon had taken a bite, and widened his eyes, clearly surprised at how good a simple bran muffin could taste. Obi watched as Qui-Gon gave a thumbs-up to Darth Maul, a fatal mistake.

Apparently, to Dathomiri, only receiving a thumbs-up for such exquisite bran muffins was completely unacceptable. By the time Obi-Wan could scream it was too late. Darth Maul’s hand was wrapped around the handle of his expensive knife, the length of which was pressed into Qui-Gon’s abdomen. Qui-Gon’s eyes grew large with horror, but he was already lost. Studio security dragged Maul away, and the paramedics rushed to Qui-Gon’s side, effectively blocking Obi-Wan from seeing anything. Obi-Wan’s last image of Qui-Gon alive was the look of terror on his face as he got chef-shanked by Darth Maul.

And from that day, until his last day, Obi-Wan would never eat a blueberry muffin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looked at the calendar and realized today is the four-month anniversary of this fic! Gave some Qui-Gon dying as proof of my love.


	20. Sandy Pseudo Manbun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally spaced on Wednesday and forgot to upload until today... whoopsies... maybe I don't need to try to stick to a schedule lol

The smell of fried tomatoes and eggs permeated the entire apartment. Obi-Wan sat up, rubbing his eyes, confused. He wrapped his inexpensive indoor robe around himself before padding out to his living room. There, his eyes beheld one of the hottest sights they had ever seen: Anakin Skywalker, wearing his clothes, and frying up eggs and tomatoes in his kitchen. A pot of some amazing looking coffee was apparently also brewing. Before he could say anything to his guest, Obi-Wan’s stomach growled and gave him away.

“Oh, I didn’t hear you come in. Hope you don’t mind, it looked like you could use some real cooking rather than the atrocities I’ve seen committed in the short time I’ve been here.” Anakin’s words, though disparaging, were welcome. It had been a while since Obi-Wan had tasted any real cooking. It’s not that he was bad, it’s just that he also wasn’t good.

“So, Ani,” Obi-Wan asked, mouth full, “where’d you learn to cook?”

Anakin laughed and sort of shrugged, “My mom worked really hard when I was young, so I had to take care of myself a lot. Just sort of got good from a lot of practice. I mean it’s not like it’s hard to fry an egg. It was probably one of my first feats. The real challenge is when you set your mind to  _ learning how to bake a cake from scratch _ .”

“Ouch, make me food and then destroy my career, I see how it is.” Obi-Wan’s voice was full of mirth, despite the clear personal attack. It was good that Anakin was feeling spirited enough to tease him. That was a sign of progress, right?

After the pleasant meal, Obi-Wan leaned back in the chair he was in. Anakin, somewhere in the course of the meal, had miraculously created a hair elastic (it was on his wrist the whole time, but Obi-Wan had never noticed), and secured his bangs away from his face in what resembled a mushroom top about his head. Anakin’s sandy pseudo manbun was quite a look, and Obi found himself admiring Ani’s jawline, up to his ears.

“Ahem,” Anakin cleared his throat, having sensed the lewd aura emanating from Obi-Wan. “I did the cooking, how about you clean?” Ani refrained from saying something about the way Obi regarded him almost reverently, like one does their soulmate.

After a nice shower, Obi-Wan glanced at the Tag Heuer on his wrist, the timepiece telling him that he still had another half hour before he had to leave for work. Obi mentally praised himself for his good morning. “Hey, Ani, you coming to work with me again?”

Had Obi-Wan been facing Anakin, he would have seen the younger man’s blush as it spread from his cheeks up into his sandy hairline. Just as Obi-Wan was touch starved, Anakin was kindness starved. It wasn’t that Padmé was mean to him or anything, she just rarely paid attention to Anakin unless he had done something stupid as of late.

“Yeah,” Anakin replied, a hair higher than normal. Thankfully, Obi-Wan was too busy being proud of his own punctuality to notice Anakin biting his lip and frowning. “I think at lunch, I want to head to Nabrew, Padmé and I have to talk.”

Obi-Wan’s face creased in concern, “Is that a good idea so soon? I support you no matter what, but I think it would be good to give her some warning rather than just show up. We’re both in trouble, as it stands.”

Anakin pursed his lips, “I hate when you’re right. Okay, I’ll call and ask her if I can come by tomorrow to talk like adults.” Obi-Wan nodded, worry lines relaxing and helping him to lose some of his paternal aura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having your SO wear your clothes and look comfortable in them is like inexplicably the sexiest thing to me. Unrelated to this fic, but a fun fact I learned: the Roman god Jupiter got his name from the Romans hearing the Greeks say "Zeus pater" (pater means father), they already had a sky god named Jove who sort of blended with Jupiter in myth to become one all-powerful lightning daddy. That's cool to me because I have a huge tattoo of Jupiter (the planet) on my arm.


	21. Children's Hospital Fundraiser

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this stone-faced on the train to school and prayed the entire time that some kindly old person didn't ask what I was typing. (Yes, I commute an hour by train daily to get to college, but it's so much cheaper than living on campus.)

“Ack!” Ani exclaimed, nearly tossing the piping bag aside, until he caught sight of Obi-Wan’s  _ bitch if you do _ face. “I can’t make a goddamn rose,” he grumbled angrily.

“Anakin, you have to relax your hand, you’re squeezing too hard. It’s coming too fast.”

Anakin ignored the obvious innuendo, and chose instead to frown. “Obi-Wan it’s like this isn’t my hand. I know I need to be gentle, but I keep being to forceful. It’s like I generally get the idea, but my hand mechanically can’t listen to my brain.”

Obi held back the comments about  _ well how do you masturbate _ because he was trying to pretend to be a decent and responsible shop owner today. “Just be patient, it’s not like the piping bag is trying to evilly sabotage you or anything.”

“Obi-Wan, from where I am standing, it’s the piping bag who  _ is _ evil.” Anakin said it with so much certainty that Obi couldn’t hold back his laughter. Anakin, further upset decided to retaliate. “At least I can bake a cake from scratch,  _ Breadi Councilman _ .” That was a low blow, and had the shop’s bell not chimed, Obi-Wan would have had no choice but to force Anakin to apologize for his repeated insolence. Into the store walked some random client, come to pick up their cake.

“Anakin, run to the back and grab me the cake for order, uh,” Obi looked down to the ticket the customer had handed him, “Order 66.” If Obi-Wan recalled, that cake was for a children’s hospital fundraiser. How fun.

A moment later Anakin returned and handed the cake to the client. When they were alone once more, Anakin turned to Obi-Wan and knit his brows together, shuffling his feet. “I’m sorry, that was low. If you can teach me how to ice, I’ll teach you how to bake.”

“Oh,” Obi quirked a brow, “You would really teach me that? I warn you, Qui-Gon tried for years. And he’s very persuasive, but I still can’t bake.” Obi’s mind drifted to his late mentor’s face, so handsome. Maybe one day, Obi-Wan would take on a mentee of his own, and pass on all of Qui-Gon’s sage advice.

“Yeah, for sure, you’re letting me sleep at your place, you let me wear your clothes, and you haven’t once asked that I at least go to the store and buy my own pants.” Obi-Wan paled a bit, realizing that he had, in fact, not forced Anakin to earn his keep at all at Chez Kenobi. It wasn’t like Obi-Wan to expect anything, but he could have at least told Anakin to buy his own underwear. Though there was something mildly exciting about knowing that his boxer briefs were gently cupping Ani’s— _ Woah! _ That’s enough excitement at work for one day there, Obi-Wan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehe Order 66 >:)


	22. I've a what? But I can't be, I'm just Obi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHA sorry for the hiatus, it's not that this chapter wasn't written, it's just that I'm an awful mom who can't take care of her writing babies because she gets really distracted. How many weeks has it been? Three? Four? Regardless, it's been too long. Sorry about that, and welcome to the new readers!

Today was the day, Anakin and Padmé had agreed to meet at Nabrew and discuss what was to happen. That morning before they’d left the house, Anakin had filled Obi-Wan in on some background information.

“I hate to separate Luke and Leia, but we agreed when we got engaged that, should anything happen, we each get a cat. And there’s the whole matter of who gets the coffee shop. The lease is under my name but she paid to renovate it.“ Anakin had said, while eating a piece of avocado toast. Apparently, owning a hipster coffee shop meant Ani was adept at making millennial cuisine. “And I need to grab some clothes and whatnot, I miss my Toms.” At that point Obi-Wan had groaned loud enough to start a dialogue between the two men about their respective favorite canvas shoes. Classic Kenobi was a Chucks kind of man.

Obi-Wan had his phone off vibrate today, as he was expecting a text update from Anakin as soon as he had left Nabrew. This, like most of Obi’s ideas, turned out to be really bad. The sweet stylings of Smokey Robinson played obnoxiously from his breast pocket as he got a call from Mace Windu.

Flicking the touchscreen to accept the call, he put the device up to his ear. “Have I fudged up? Did I miss another meeting?”

Mace’s voice on the other end was, thankfully, amused. “Not at all, Master Kenobi. News has come to the council concerning the fact that you have a new young ward.”

“A what?”

“A ward. There’s a young man living with you who has been helping you at work. Is this not the case?” Fuck, there was no hiding anything from the council.

“Uh, yeah,” Obi-Wan said, feigning composure. Thank god Master Windu couldn’t see him sweat over the phone.

“Ah,” Mace sighed, pleased, “The council was hoping you would take on a mentee soon. It’s been so long since Qui-Gon, well, happened. He would have wanted you to be happy.”

“It’s no-“ Obi-Wan began, being cut off my Mace.

“We will call a meeting tomorrow at nine pm, bring the boy.”

And now, Obi-Wan anxiously waited for Anakin’s text to break the news that the Council wanted to meet him. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait too long, because less than five minutes later, Elton John’s “Your Song” played, letting Obi know Anakin was calling.

“Oh, a call?” Obi-Wan asked, confused, into the phone.

“Are you allergic to cats?” Anakin asked, sounding out of breath, as though he was running.

“What, no?”

“Okay, cool.”

“Anakin, what on ear-“ And Obi-Wan got shut down for a second time that afternoon as Anakin hung up on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missing your Toms is a big mood...


End file.
